


heard melodies are sweet (but those unheard are sweeter)

by Tab_oo



Series: tmg hogwarts au [1]
Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hufflepuff!Noel, M/M, Quidditch, Slytherin!Cody, Sport Gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tab_oo/pseuds/Tab_oo
Summary: When everything he knows comes to fall - the memory of home, dreams of success, a dying hatred for Cody Kolodziejzyk - there is Quidditch.A flash of silver and emerald appears in his peripherals, and the hollow feeling returns, sinking its unforgiving teeth into his mind, merciless and powerful.He has to forget.





	1. what leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape - of deities or mortals - or of both?

**Author's Note:**

> yoyoyo remember that these are realass people with realass relationships so don't get worked up and bother them or something! as always when reading rpf, remember to keep respect for cody, noel, and their respective s/o's, and that this is pretty much ooc content while i try to learn how to write people lmao.

There are some things to be accepted in life, rather than questioned to meaningless end.

Some things. Just some.

Examples? Trees grow. Birds fly. Noel Miller fucking _hates_ Cody Kolodziejzyk.

(Really, though. Someone with a last name like that's _begging_ for it.)

And, honestly - loathing someone like Cody's just like breathing. Comes as easy as a solid rubber ball beneath dirt-ridden hands, as easy as the unforgiving sting of untamed air - just as perfectly, instinctively. That boy - he’s a Slytherin, after all. The simple epitome of one: a no-good, rotten, self-assured twat who gets what he wants when he wants it. 

It's not _his_ fault that nobody likes a Slytherin. Especially not a shit-eating, clever-but-still-so-very-stupid one.

Noel likes to think he’s not very particular when it comes to people. He's a fairly easy-going guy - maybe a little testy, a little suspicious when things concern his coveted team, but he doesn't have the time for unconditioned half-hatred, hatred sparking at a stray look from an unfamiliar face.

Still. Slytherin's oh-so- _perfect_ captain - he's never been one for the rules, the simple way things just go.

How _irritating_.

And there it is - admirably easy, quick, unthinking annoyance, hatred. He's never really stopped to question why, because questioning why he hates Cody Kolodziejzyk is like questioning why he's transferred to this stupid British school.

He definitely doesn’t have enough time or brain cells to unpack all of _that_.

But if he were - if he were to inquire just about _why_ he hates Cody motherfucking Kolodziejzyk so dearly, so much-

He thinks he’d say it’s the hair.

(Really. Platinum "hello-my-name's-Karen" type shit blonde. _Really._ )

But - not that he’s paying attention.

Wait.

Fuck.

No.

No, he’d say it’s about Quidditch. Quidditch rivalry, all that - who expects less from Hufflepuff and Slytherin captains?

Yeah, that's it.

(It's nothing personal, him noticing his hair. After all, a good player knows chasers get stuck together in the air very often, and _excuse him_ if it’s his fault for getting an eyeful of the fuckin’ sun every time that boy tries to snag the quaffle from his hands.)

Yeah.

Quidditch.

\---

It’s perfectly bright out on the day of their match, and Noel is fucking pissed.

Apparently a full day of being holed up in the Hospital Wing isn’t enough for their best beater to recover from the Melofors jinx. Which is, of course, a load of bullshit.

(He wonders why British people "refuse to resort to primitive surgery," because fucking taking four seconds to cut off the damned pumpkin sounds like less - less whatever that is - and more _practical_.)

So he's forced to send in his replacement - a pitifully mousy-haired and mousy-faced third year who’s too busy staring wide-eyed at the crowd to get her head into the game.

He’s too busy to give her a pep-talk, though - because there’s Hogwarts’s favorite dipshit breezing towards him, blinding him with more of those stupidly dark eyes and _much_ more of that stupidly pale hair. 

The watching crowd bellows as he walks, watching every self-assured step while cheering the bastard on.

(It's unfair. No matter how much Noel tells himself that _nobody_ likes a Slytherin - it's just not true. 

Cody's always been a rule-breaker, after all.)

Cody’s sharp, sharp grin’s so shit-eating that Noel can practically see brown smudged between his perfect teeth.

A posse of silver and emerald lurk behind him, glowering at the Hufflepuffs out of hatred and old, old prejudice. He vaguely remembers a time when the age old quarrel between Slytherins and Gryffindors were the main event, but that was before Cody and Noel became names that were seldom spoken without the other trailing behind.

(Noel doesn’t care much for being known among a bunch of British twats, but the dangerous, ever-present glint in Cody’s eyes tells a different tale.)

“Miller,” he draws out, unsettlingly sharp teeth flashing like a knife, nearly, nearly as cutting as those dark eyes. There’s a stain of _something_ in between his teeth that’s ominously red, and Noel tries his hardest not to stare. “If it isn’t my favorite racially ambiguous _chode._ ”

If there’s ever a time for hating your parents for birthing you in America, it’s now.

“If it isn’t Cody-” he pauses to let out a strangled noise, grinning until he isn’t because _God_ , fuck, why did he ever open his big, fat, insanely stupid mouth, because what the ever-living fuck did he even say? What the fuck was _that noise_?

He’s - he’s supposed to be funny, be clever like they say he is, like he’s normally. He - he just wanted to make a joke about Cody’s mouthful of a name but he wasn’t thinking, fuck, why is he even panicking, he shouldn't give a shit about what he thinks-

But Cody laughs - laughs - and his grin grows ever brighter, ever sharper. “Wow. Low blow, Miller,” he responds calmly. “But you’re gonna drop even lower when we fuckin’ wreck you out there.” And somehow, somehow his relaxed, not-at-all-hostile, totally chill demeanor, the demeanor that contrasts sharply with a thinly veiled challenge, sparks a flame within Noel. It burns, burns because he can see shark teeth and snake eyes and monkey paws lurking beneath the surface of shiny eyes, shiny teeth, shiny hair. 

Noel takes a pale hand in his, teeth clenched, as Madame Hooch releases the Quaffle into the air with a puff, reminding him of the game. The clamor of the anticipating crowd has quieted to a gentle murmur, a dull murmur that he can't tell is real or not, can't tell if it's not just his brain focusing in on those dark eyes- All eyes in the area are focused, honing in on two hands, two faces, two people who hardly know each other but insist on rivalry, insist because- Because-

Momentarily, he digs his nails into his rival’s hand, and he watches as brown eyes narrow.

He knows he can feel the gentle bite of crescent moons, even through the leather, and there it sits.

A challenge.

The whistle blows, and they climb into the air, handshake forgotten.

Quidditch is Quidditch. Nothing has changed, nothing at all, since he was just seven, playing alone in an empty field.

All he has to focus on is pursuing the Quaffle. Avoiding the Bludgers is always simple enough - _everyone_ knows that the Slytherin team's got a _trash_ pair of Beaters. Still, he can say the same for his team, especially with that first year (who he can see literally wobbling on his broom in the corner of his eye) standing in. As long as they manage to slap the enchanted balls in a direction generally out of his way, he should be fine.

His broom’s a bit old - what with parents who don’t even know what wizards use as currency, let alone have enough of such to afford a nice broom - and tossed down from the school, but it’s still enough to hurtle him through the air. He cuts through it with ease, spiraling upwards, and he just _knows_ he’s good enough to beat out any of the Slytherin chasers on their fancy, pureblood-expensed, brand-fucking-new broomsticks. 

Excluding their captain, of course. 

Four years and he’s _still_ well matched with Noel. Which is - frustrating, to say the least, because really, _four fucking years_. Four.

(But at least that means he’s well matched with Cody. Not that he even cares-)

Truth be told, he’s Noel’s primary worry. 

Not as much, though, not hardly as much, he decides when his fingers close around the rough surface of the Quaffle.

It’s his, it’s his - he’s soaring through the air now, charging thoughtlessly towards the Slytherin’s decorated goalposts. He’s being reckless, but Cody’s nowhere to be seen (hopefully, hopefully his Beaters are doing their jobs) and the Slytherins are miles away from him - besides the Keeper, of course, who looks quite terrified by the lithe Hufflepuff darting straight at him.

He’s mere meters away from the goalposts, ready to dart left, when a flash of silver and green near knocks off his nose. He can almost hear a slap as the edge of luxurious robes barely brush by his side, already recoiling in fury because he _knows_ what just happened before he even sees it.

“Mother - fuck!” he shouts, too dazed by the near contact to even try to keep Cody from wrestling the Quaffle out of his arms.

Fuck.

That was - close.

 _Impressively_ close.

He should be irritated, he thinks, as he turns his broom ‘round, watching the platinum-haired boy weave flawlessly past shocked Hufflepuff Chasers. He should be, he thinks, as he clenches his ratty broom with his gloved hands, hazel eyes narrowed. Yet - somehow - he’s impressed, impressed by his near impossible finesse, and he damn near _smiles_.

Cody Kolodziejzyk is a piece of shit, his mind attempts to reinstate furiously, trying to keep amazement out of his head as he watches his rival twirl fancily in the air. A simple flick of slender peach fingers and the Quaffle is sent straight into the rightmost goalpost.

A shiver runs down Noel’s spine, and truthfully he can’t explain it.

He _thinks_ Cody Kolodziejzyk is a piece of shit.

Thinks.

Thinks?

Some things aren’t meant to be questioned, he decides as he regains his momentum in the air, charging past amazed Beaters.

And - maybe -

Maybe his loathing for Cody Kolodziejzyk isn't just anything. 

\---

They win. Barely.

It’s a slim victory. Nothing to be proud of, really, something to learn from rather than gloat. They’ve done better before, and they will in the future.

And yet it still is, because he beat out Cody, he beat out _Cody_.

He doesn’t even know him that well. But he does know that a victory against him is something to be cherished dearly.

\---

(And, yeah, maybe the victory was a bit too slim because _someone_ was suddenly distracted by Cody’s strange sort of finesse, and maybe _someone_ got quite some shit from it from their other teammates after the glory of victory washed off. 

But maybe another Slytherin someone was distracted by _someone_ during the game as well.

Really.

Noel isn’t blind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "Ode on a Grecian Urn” by John Keats (full here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44477/ode-on-a-grecian-urn )
> 
> >>> not the biggest fan of irl cody/noel, but they make for a fun "character study" where i try to not suck at/relearn writing.


	2. who canst thus express - a flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Noel gloats. He leans back in his chair and kicks up his feet, blatantly ignoring the put-off noises his housemakes are making. Who gives a shit? It’s been exactly five days and he’s _still_ astounded that he won over Cody fuckin’ Kolodziejzyk. He’s acting overly stupid, overly _confident_ , which is a bit too Gryffindor of him - but when has he ever let stupid British stereotypes rule how he acts? 

He can see a flash of platinum among a sea of brown a couple tables away. The mere notion - the mere reminder of the fact that Cody is there, a handful of meters from him, living through his defeat - only serves to goads him.

“I - did you see that shot? Their Keeper was all the way on the other post, didn’t get _shit_ on me-”

“We get it, Noel,” Aleena groans. “We won. The whole school was there. Including us, who’re - oh, you know - on the same team?” She proceeds to nod at Danny, who nods rapidly in agreement. They’re not nearly as excited as him about the victory, and he’s not sure _why_ they aren’t, because really his win is theirs too. 

(He doesn’t really question if there’s something else to it.)

“Really, Danny?” he asks, snatching a blueberry from atop the pancakes on Aleena’s plate in retaliation. Feigning offence, he recoils dramatically, glancing upward at the illuminated ceiling as if willing God for strength. “Damn. Expected this from Aleena, but you? Traitor.” He chooses to ignore both their mildly appalled faces as he licks the residue of stray syrup off his fingers. “Traitors an’ shit behind, that was some impressive shit we pulled. A good win.”

“ _Yeah_ , five days ago,” Danny reasons, attempting to contradict Noel in the kindest way he can. Because, truth be told, Danny’s a lot less brazen and competitive as Aleena or Noel, but he’s quick witted, kind, and shockingly good as Keeper, so they’ve looped him in to their little group. Still - more timid or not - he still lets out an incredulous snort. “ _Five. Days._ ”

Noel snorts. Doesn’t matter - not when it’s a win against _Cody._

“Against a team of seventh years who’ll be stuck in a desk job next year,” Aleena notes, robbing Noel of a half-bitten sausage. “Did you even see their players? Their Beaters ran into each other when they saw you coming.” She adds the last with an ill-natured snort - Noel’s not the only one who isn’t the biggest fan of Slytherins.

“You kidding me? Did you even _see_ Cody?” And yeah, he’s not thinking - his mouth kind of just lets the words out before he can sort things out upstairs. But it’s true - with astoundingly sharp maneuvers and the sort of connections rich purebloods are guaranteed, he’s bound to have at least a reserve spot on an official team next year. “Straightup twisted in the air, man. Houdini shit. I mean, Danny missed half his saves. Mans could take us by himself - if his team were half as good as he was, we definitely wouldn’t have been ahead by ten, man.”

He rants on for a little bit, trailing off after he realizes that his friends are point-blank staring at him. A sudden sort of tension sweeps into the air, hanging heavy alongside the overbearing stench of vanilla and freshly baked goods. And - Noel’s not really sure what he did wrong, but judging from Aleena’s widening eyes and Danny’s furrowing dark brows, he’s done _something_.

“Noel Miller.” 

Oh, _oh_ \- last names are coming out. He’s in trouble now.

“ _Noel Miller_ ,” Aleena repeats, a devilish twinkle in her eye. “You’re talking a _whole lot_ about Cody.”

Oh, dear.

Now he sees.

“Trouble” doesn’t even begin to cut it.

“Our _arch-enemy_?” Danny asks, and now he’s the one acting like he’s been wronged. “The leader of our - Cody? _No-el._ ” He makes a strangled noise. “Noel, why?” And shit, he sounds genuinely concerned - a stark contrast from Aleena’s delighted amusement.

“What?” Noel splutters, fumbling with his silverware. He sets it down with a harsh noise, ignoring the protests of nearby flustered prefects. “What - what the fuck’re you implying?” 

(He already knows, but if his friends want to spout absolute _bullshit_ , he’d rather hear it straight out of their mouths.)

“What we’re implying?” Danny responds, setting down his plate of eggs with a discontented noise. His voice has always been ridiculously dramatic - rising up high and down low once again like a terrible roller coaster, littered with more cracks than an old sidewalk. His apparent shock’s mitigated by the quality, but it’s there all the same. “What we’re implying is that you’ve got a - have been paying way too much attention to - to - _Cody_!” For a moment, he sounds whiny, like a seven-year-old denied attention, but his surmounting frown and narrowing eyes paint a picture of concern.

Noel splutters again (because he doesn’t really have concern about his dignity right now). “What the fuck? Dude, I - shit - okay, what the fuck?” He’s spluttering, nerves raised almost as much as the hair on his skin, because he can see a pair of sinfully dark eyes raising in the distance, a raised eyebrow.

He flushes, convinces himself it’s anger, and turns away.

“Noel, you just ranted for the last minute about him,” Aleena says slowly, as if she’s trying to force the thought into his head. And yeah, like, maybe he just did, but it’s - it’s not like - he’s allowed to talk about people, _for fuck’s sake_.

“That- Jesus, guys, I - I was just mentioning he’s good. And we ain’t gonna beat him if we don’t know how good he is. Fuck, excuse me for scouting out the competition, _goddamn_.” He’s a little pissed now, but - fuck, his team just insinuated that he’s been looking at Cody for a reason outside of Quidditch.

No. No fucking way. 

“Whatever you say,” Danny yields quickly, turning to his plate of cooling eggs with a grumble. He’s smart enough to know that Noel’s got a weirdly short fuse when it comes to Quidditch and pesky Slytherins - and that if he doesn’t respond well to the subject first then it’s best not to push it. Thankfully, Aleena follows suit, letting out a responding snort while piling more cakes onto her plate, and the topic is officially closed off. Which is good, because means he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. Doesn’t have to. 

(Naturally, that means his brain will find a way - but it’s not his fault, really. Everything - everything about him is so - so very-)

It’s not fault he’s not-at-all-staring, either. Cody’s hair, much like the rest of him, is unapologetically bright, confident and blaring and absolutely up in your face.

It’s blinding - blindingly ugly, ha - and when the doors to the kitchen swing open in the distance, sending a breeze to ruffle pale curls, Noel doesn’t at all suddenly recall that one time they crashed together on their broomsticks - the way how his hand got tangled in shockingly soft-

Noel sits through the rest of breakfast in silence.

\---

The rest of the day is ordinary - although he’s only around two weeks into his final year of classes, he’s already fallen into routine. It’s simple enough. Alchemy, ancient studies, divination - nothing he’s particularly good at or particularly concerned about. Classes are easy, since he’s academically _kind-of_ smart, and there’s nothing much to worry about. If he’s going to get a job - or, at least, one he’ll work hard for - it’s going to be in Quidditch.

_That’s_ simple enough.

Then he gets stuck in Care of Magical Creatures.

Which - it isn’t a bad thing in itself. They get to be outside in the warm sunlight, surrounded by light breezes and squawking creatures - it certainly beats trying to discern the future from tea leaves inside a stuffy classroom. But it’s also the only class he shares with a certain Slytherin.

Not great.

He’s not in the greatest mood today. The bullshit in the morning has him feeling strange, and looking at the boy in question isn’t helping it. At all.

They’re supposed to be having fun, partnering up to take care of hippogriffs, but in truth he’s more focused on Cody than the indignant dark-feathered hippogriff ahead of him.

The Slytherin captain’s standing a mere meter away, stroking a pale hippogriff’s head with a slow hand. His head’s tilted downwards - it’s hard for Noel to tell what expression’s on his face, but when he leans forwards from where he’s standing, he can hear words.

“Hey there, boy,” Cody murmurs, and Noel stifles a choked noise rising from his throat because it’s _soft_ , shockingly soft, partnered with a domestic, almost loving expression on his face. “How you been, Fatass?” And, of course, of course he nicknamed his practice hippogriff ‘Fatass.’ 

(It's almost - endearing?)

Noel’s dumbfounded, completely thrown off guard - almost frightened, to be frank. Cody’s an asshole, a crass, unapologetic Slytherin, a rival captain. He’s not supposed to be murmuring to a creature like a Muggle girl murmurs to their kitten. 

But the thought of a hippogriff named Fatass allows a small chuckle slips out of his mouth against his will. He’s stupefied further, eyes widening as he ignores the confused expression his partner wears - him, chuckling softly, mundanely, because of Cody? 

Fuck. Fuck this.

He closes his mouth - he didn’t even notice it was open, really, but alright - and licks his lips instinctively.

He must’ve - he must’ve been seeing things. Really.

But when he turns hurriedly away, barely catching gleaming dark eyes flashing his way, he just knows he can’t ignore the low, sweet murmurs spilling like honey from Cody’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna add more but i forgot that i havent posted in a while so here's a short little chapter !! thanks for all the support y'all have been giving - it's been splendid and tbh it makes me wonder why i ever stopped writing.


	3. not a soul, to tell - why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

It’s an unusually warm fall day when Cody, calm as ever, slips beside Noel on the picnic bench and says, “Noel,” as a simple greeting.

Noel nearly crushes his Bowtruckle from between his hands.

Because - this isn’t _normal_. They’re Noel and Cody, rivals on the Quidditch pitch and, for all the rest of Hogwarts can tell, off it. They don’t _talk_ \- _talking_ isn’t normal. It isn’t routine, and Noel has already bothered to fall into one. 

Usually - usually - their relationship consists of ignorance and denial. _Firm_ ignorance in the form of turned cheeks, averted eyes, carelessly tossed rumors. All pretend, all when education matter requires them to meet. But sometimes, on other days, on days that call for straight-forward aggression and black boots trampling soft grass, things are different. Ground teeth and bitten tongues - they twist into snide remarks and sharp laughter, casually stuck-out shoes and innocent flipped fingers. It’s easy, easy for Noel, because that, that part, sticks to a familiar expanse of clipped grass and wooden posts.

He’s - he’s not prepared for this.

He’s not prepared for Cody’s grin, the smile that isn’t quite - and he doubts will ever be - soft, the smirk that lacks the usual bite. He’s not prepared for the arm brushing slightly against his own, the column of heat that smashes into him. 

(But, ‘course, he’s not prepared for Cody talking to him in general.)

Slowly, carefully, the Bowtruckle crawls out of his hands and onto the table, obviously disgruntled. Noel lets it join Danny’s spindly creature, whose handler shoots him a questionable look that he outright ignores, because he’s already got certain problems on his hands.

“What,” he manages, “do you _want_?” It’s a bit venomous, a bit too harsh and demanding, but he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s second nature when it comes to Cody, after all.

(As he always likes to say - he’s on his bully shit.)

Cody makes a chiding nose - _tsks_ , even - at him, amusement dripping from his throat like molasses. He’s a step away from outright laughing at him, although the glint in his gaze and the quick bob of his throat draws his expression closer to cautiousness.

“What, I’m not allowed to _hello_?” he scoffs, tapping his fingers against the flat wood of the table. He sounds incredulous, haughty as usual, but all Noel can focus on is the adamant refusal of chocolate eyes to meet his own. “ _Chill_ , bro.”

It’s - it’s ridiculous, really, and he almost _laughs_ because he’s Noel and he’s Cody but there they are, talking, _chatting_ , about something other than the other’s defeat. Chatting - chatting like a couple of children.

(Because ultimately, ultimately they are both only boys, but - to each other - they are nothing less than men.)

“Are you - what the fuck?” Noel spits, wrenching himself away from Cody’s ~~intoxicating~~ searing heat, because anger comes to him as quickly as confusion. 

There’s a strange look on Cody’s face. If this wasn’t cold-blooded, sharp-toothed, unchivalrous Cody, he would think it’s hurt. Hurt - hurt as in pain, pain like the pain of rejection, like an outstretched hand hanging in the air untaken, like a peace treaty ripped heartlessly to shreds.

 _Cody._ It’s Cody.

(He has to remember.)

“Since when have I been your bro? Since when do we talk?” he spits. “Where the fuck are you pulling this ‘friend’ shit from? _Since when do you say hello to anyone?_ ” 

The “especially me” catches in his throat.

He’s loud - near akin to shouting - and people are beginning to stare, but he hardly has eyes for them. Hagrid’s still off prattling on to some girl about the Browtruckle’s feeding habits, anyhow, so he’s got at least a couple more minutes of whatever _this_ seems to be.

Noel sounds bitter, unreasonable, aggressive, and he can feel contempt pushing out care. There’s a certain weariness that bites down into his bones, drags him back to his roots of blind hatred. He can feel anger fit him in his maw, snapping its imposing jaws together, sinking rows upon rows of glittering teeth into his flesh. His breathing comes in gasps now, rage coiling about his frame. 

He bets he looks the part - angry, furious. Shoulders squared, fists clenched - he’s been in fights before. He knows how they start, knows how they _end_. It doesn’t take much to connect the dots.

“Fuck off,” Cody scowls, and there it is, the familiar back and forth, the familiar biting aggression that he’s used to, the routine he always finds himself falling into. At least this isn’t something foreign, something to be _afraid of_ , something to chase away.

The quick sting of adrenaline, adrenaline beginning to churn within him, doesn’t look like it’s going to be misleading him - especially when he pairs it with narrowing brown eyes, a slow rise to meet Noel at where he stands. 

“Do you always have to be such a fuckhead?” Cody snaps, and _oh,_ he’s one to talk. Piece of- “Can’t you just chill? Ever?”

Something dangerously bright unfurls deep in the pit of Noel’s stomach.

Hope? 

Because it sounds - it sounds startlingly close to a proposal of friendship, what’s coming out of Cody’s serpentine mouth. It’s ridiculous. Absolutely incredulous, _stupid_ , especially when it rolls off of _his_ silver tongue. Stupid.

But it sounds real. Sincere. 

Almost an apology of sorts - an apology in the form of an exasperated shout spilling from his lips.

Does he really _want_ to get along with Cody? 

He-

He’s scared.

 _Fuck_ , he’s scared.

He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

He opens his mouth.

Then clenches his fist and swings it straight into Cody’s face.

Fighting comes easy.

(Routine.) 

It happens fast - his body works far more rapidly than his brain ever has - and the spray of dark crimson happens just as quickly. Blood coats his knuckles, slick and warm, and he chokes on spit rising in his throat that comes with the knowledge that it’s not his own.

He can see Cody’s broken nose through the blur.

There’s red - red - pounding in his ears, filling his vision, covering his skin. There’s red bursting from his flesh, from where Cody swings back with eyes clouded, where his fist connects with Noel’s cheekbone. 

They swing hard, hard, because they are only boys.

He can’t hear anything. Can only feel his fists when they smash into Cody’s face, can only feel brief flashes of pain when the Slytherin reciprocates. 

Can’t feel the brush of fingers on his shoulder, trying to pull him back from this sordid sort of dance. 

Cody’s fist connects with his jaw, and he _feels_.

\---

He wakes up from the dark with a jolt.

It’s cold in the Hospital Wing.

His head hurts.

Starlight streams from an open window, accompanied by cold air that’s nearly as relieving as the ice pack slipping from his forehead. He winces, raising it to his temple - it’s dark and time’s obviously passed. Madame Pomfrey’s not present, for all he can tell, and there’s nobody in the nearby beds, so it’s nearly curfew. Looks like he’ll be spending the rest of the night - oh, _fuck_ , someone’s hand is on his shoulder and - he’s not alone.

“Jesus!” he yelps, “what the - _motherfuckin’_ \- Cody?” And yeah, that’s the very last person he would’ve expected to see here (seeing as he’s the guy who put him here). It’s a definite surprise, but the strange warmth crackling through him doesn’t feel like a warning, doesn’t make him feel like it’s an unwelcome one.

“Chill, dude,” and he’s laughing - laughing? - which is astounding, considering the fact that last Noel saw him he was practically trying to _kill_ him. “Just me.”

His teeth really are as white as his hair.

(Was he _really_ trying to kill him?

Kind of.

Not really.)

“Didn’t - didn’t you try to kill me last time I saw you?” Noel asks, and that elicits another chuckle.

(Which doesn’t warm his stomach. At all.)

“The way it looked, _you_ tried to kill _me_ , man,” Cody grins, and Noel’s really, really confused, because how can he look and act so positively cheery to the guy who - a couple hours ago - threw a punch at him for trying to be nice? 

It's ridiculous. Insane.

 _Hilarious_.

Noel swallows something rising in his throat.

He might as well go along with it.

(He's growing a bit tired of foul-mouthed questions.)

“Well, you were acting _weird_ , man.” It's amicable enough, for him - Cody.

(And at least he's not swearing.)

“So being ‘nice’ is being ‘weird’ to you,” he responds with a raised eyebrow - he’s doing it again.

Then Noel laughs - _laughs_ \- and this does not feel normal in any way.

“I mean, when you fuck around with me for seven years and then start acting up…” Noel reasons, and the fact that Cody’s grinning at him - because of him - paired with the fact that he’s doing the very same does not feel normal.

(Just because it doesn’t feel normal, usual - it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel _right._

It’s really just confusing.)

Something churns in his stomach. He thinks he might throw up.

“Why are you here?” he asks, because he has to.

Cody blinks. It’s apparently not a blatantly, entirely easy question to answer. It should be.

“Well, old ‘Haggy’ saw me knock the fuck out of you, so he made me take you there. By _myself_.”

He laughs - again? - but he reasons with himself that he can’t really be expected to _not_ when some smug-ass platinum blonde Slytherin calls Hagrid something like _Haggy._

There’s a _why are you trying to be my friend after seven years of mostly unspoken bullshit_ in there somewhere alongside his question, but he doesn’t really want to say it out loud. 

And then, because he’s extra-stupid today - and possibly have finally been hit in the head one too many a time - he says it out loud.

“Why are you trying to be my friend after seven years of mostly unspoken bullshit?”

Oops.

Cody chuckles again. It’s sweet, gentle, like they’re best friends sharing an inside joke, and Noel feels strange. He shouldn’t be the recipient of that - that _look_ when he was trying his best to paint his entire face red a couple hours ago.

“‘Cause I felt like it.”

Oh.

“Plus,” he adds with a pop of his lips, brown eyes alight with amusement, “the only _good_ friend I had - Spock - he transferred to some fancyass foreign school. So. His spot’s open.”

Oh.

He laughs. It’s ridiculous.

It’s easy to convince himself it’s a joke.

(Because he doesn’t want to be afraid.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thanks for your comments n' kudos!!!


	4. all breathing human passion far above - that leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd - a burning forehead, and a parching tongue

Noel thinks they’re becoming friends.

(Naturally, it’s a bit of a problem.)

And. _And_.

And he - well, he hadn’t thought about it becoming a problem. Mostly because it’s, well, him and Cody. Cody Kolodziejzyk. 

They don’t _do_ friendship, simply put.

But, to be fair, they’re don’t _do_ peace treaties, carrying one another to the Hospital Wing - they’re not supposed to do grinning and laughing _with_ instead of _at_ one another, chatting amicably like a couple of first years.

It’s not like everything’s changed. They still spit and hiss at each other on the Quidditch field, corner each other in the locker room for a verbal wrestling match.

Which is good, because he doesn’t want everything to change.

Off the pitch, though. It’s - different.

Normal, even.

Noel isn’t sure if he despises it or loves it.

(He knows, but he’d rather not think about it.)

They actually talk - chat - in the classes they share now, casual and meaningless, whenever they can get away with it. It comes easy, just as easy as broken teeth and fractured bones do (or at least once did), and it feels like Noel’s just met Cody for the first time.

At least, it’s the first time he’s met the real Cody. The twinkle in his eyes, the barking echo of his laughter - that sets it straight on the first day.

Danny and Aleena are still there, of course. They still moan about blasted Slytherins - not in front of Cody, of course, because the only thing sharper than the boy’s teeth is his hearing - but they’re relatively tame. Tame for the best players out of a lot of unusually bold Hufflepuffs, at least.

And they’re certainly not some sort of group - the downright horrified looks Danny pull and the knowing grin Aleena flashes make sure that Noel never makes the mistake of mixing them together. He keeps them separate, because mixing two sensitive hothead Hufflepuffs and one asshole (but not as much of one as he previously thought) of a Slytherin is something that only the bravest wizards would dare try.

Noel, for all the nigh Gryffindor antics he likes to pull, is still a Hufflepuff at heart.

A week in and they start pulling pranks. They’re good, too - their teamwork’s so seamless that Noel wonders why it took them so damn long to figure things out. Their work fits like two puzzle pieces clicking together, finally conjoining after an eon of looking for the right combination. This - connection - they’ve got (prankwise, of course) is undeniable - an innocent hand motion here, a flick of the wand, and some innocent bystander ends up with a toad up their pants. 

Of course, Noel’s teachers (all of them, mind, because - to his absolute delight - he finds out that Cody will stop at nothing to mess with Noel’s classes when he’s bored) are less than happy about the sudden - _friendship_. Including - well - the rest of Hogwarts.

Still, the rest of Hogwarts be damned - Noel’s having _fun_.

(He forgets to question _why_ they’re falling into some domestic friendship so easily.)

\---

It takes approximately 48 hours of pranking for them to land themselves a double detention.

It’s not really Noel’s fault - he had been bored, goddammit, and, judging from the sudden appearance of platinum at the window of his classroom door, Cody had been too. His stupid, stupid class had been given some random exam - since, _apparently_ , the professor had been concerned about them keeping up or whatnot. Fifteen minutes later, the only thing _Noel_ had been concerned about was what in Hell’s name was the First Wizarding War (some British thing, he later presumed).

Roughly one dramatic entrance, nine flying textbooks, and four hours later, he’s stuck ripping white flowers out from between tangled roots as the last scrap of sunlight seeps from the sky.

He’s supposed to be collecting them for some potion - their professor had said something about fire-breathing or whatnot - but, per usual, he’s far too preoccupied thinking about shiny new broomsticks and fancy figure-eights. At least, until he happens to glance upwards - then, of nobody’s fault and _especially_ not his own, Noel’s thoughts are instead plagued by strands of ratty blonde hair.

(Strange how easily his mouth is getting dry. Must be some side effect of the pollen spreading across his fingers.)

Cody turns to look over his shoulder - innocent and almost demure in gentle movements, in the low curve of his quirked lips - and flashes him with a dark gaze, mischief remaining from the previous hours.

Oh.

Okay.

That.

(He thought _it_ stopped after they started _talking_ , but apparently not.

It’s fine.)

He swallows, and he thinks he’s just imagining dark brown eyes tracking the slow bob of his throat.

A second, an eon passes, and the snake draws to his side.

“Can’t believe you fuckin’ got us in trouble, man,” he complains - rather, straight out whines, plucking out the petals from one of his flowers. His lips keep twitching as if murmuring _he loves me not_ , and when his eyes gleam Noel realizes sharply that he’s never been so glad to be taken the piss out of.

“I mean, I wasn’t the one who walked in and started _Levi-whatevering_ some shit,” Noel scoffs, flipping him the bird, and watches the corners of Cody’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly when he laughs. The sound echoes around undergrowth, reverberating clearly above the din of nocturnal birds and insects, and Noel catches himself basking in it.

“Whatever you say, chode,” Cody snips back, lacking any heat or bite - and maybe a mere couple of weeks ago that would’ve been enough to make Noel bristle up like a damn cat, but now it’s merely enough to make him push at Cody’s side in amusement. “You know you were bored, anyways. You should be thanking me.” His face contorts - familiarly, in the sort of way Noel’s memorized, in the way he’s learned it does whenever he’s mocking something. He stifles a choking fit of laughter, chooses to preserve his dignity for a couple more minutes.

“Yeah, you should be thanking me for not kicking yo’ ass early on.”

“Lies!” Cody cackles immediately, throwing an empty green stem to the earth. “You did it anyways, bitch. Nah, wait, _I_ did it anyways. _You_ couldn’t do shit even if I let you.” His look of faux disbelief is amusing, strangely disorienting as well in a way that makes Noel wonder why they ever disliked each other.

(Wait, what?

There’s definitely something off with the pollen coating his fingers.)

He had used to vaguely dislike Danny, after all, before he realized that the rumors of him being a people-pleaser were nothing but nonsense. But he didn’t used to beat Danny up. He doesn’t get a weird, warm flash in his stomach when he talks to Danny, nor does he feel parched, dry deep down in his throat, every time he makes him laugh. He doesn’t feel strangely, inexplicably, _breathlessly_ happy when he sees his lips quirk upwards, when he sees them part to reveal pearly teeth or a brash, barking laugh.

He blinks once, twice. 

Too far?

“A little bit,” he thinks to himself, swiping tiny spots of yellow from his fingers hastily.

An owl hoots deep within the forest as dark descends upon them, and suddenly Noel feels rather uneasy.

“The sooner you stop tearing up those plants, man, the sooner we can get the fuck out of here,” Noel decides, watching another flower crumble between pale fingers. The rustling of nearby bushes is doing nothing to calm the foreign chills nipping at his spine. 

“Ugh,” Cody moans, throwing the stem to his feet. “Whatever, _Mom_.” He rises from his crouched position, trampling grass underneath his boots as he stomps about, searching for more bounty. The faint scent of something burnt fills Noel’s nose as the Slytherin sweeps by, robes billowing in the gentle breeze. “Hey, there aren’t anymore of those flowers here. Wonder what happened to them.” His voice drops to a softer note. Noel questions his intentions.

“You, dipshit,” Noel snorts, although his furrowed brows and strange expression serve to only empower the sense of unease stirring in his bones.

“Nah, dude. There were like three in the ground before we came, but there ‘re an awful lot of stems here...You think someone, like, was here?”

It’s stupid, Noel knows. If anyone was there before them, it would be Hagrid or some other groundskeeper. In simplicity, it wouldn’t be anyone to fear - but Aleena’s proclivity to force ridiculous horror movies onto him is starting to shine through.

He stuffs his few plucked flowers into a knapsack, shrugging his robe closer to fight against the slight cold. “No,” he snorts in response, although he can hear uncertainty biting through his own voice. “That’s - bullshit. Shut up, _Cody._ ”

The boy stares at him for a long moment - turns sharply on his heel and simply stares, dark brown eyes digging into hazel. Vaguely, underneath the ridiculous impending sense of doom sweeping over him, Noel wonders what he’s getting at.

“Yeah, you’re right. Race you to find more.” And then he’s off, charging into the undergrowth like an enraged hippogriff.

Noel’s left gasping at a couple of rustling bushes and the whistling breeze. 

Fuck.

Fucking - fucking immature ass Slytherins, immature ass blondes, fucking _Cody_.

Noel barks his laugh into the empty night sky.

\---

He finds him approximately two hours later, after hacking his way through treacherous overhanging vines and stumbling over thick roots hugging the earth. 

The Slytherin stands by a small stream, water rushing by with no more than a quiet hum. A small patch of moonlight fights past the Forbidden Forest’s canopy to illuminate his hair, turning it almost silver, a strangely eerie color. 

The brush rustles as he breaks into the clearing, and Cody twitches. He assumes the boy’s heard, assumes the boy will turn to meet Noel with another one of those stupid, wry grins, but he finds nothing more than the rustling of silver hair.

“Cody,” Noel calls at last, mildly annoyed. The sweat at the back of his neck pools up, sticking his dark hair to his skin like glue. “C’mon, man, it’s late and I’m fucked. Let’s just tell her we’ll find more tomorrow or somethin’.”

It takes another long moment’s pause until Cody turns at last, flowers bunched in his palm. His gaze is dark - darker than usual, which is strange. He hadn’t ever thought it possible.

“Dude?” he asks uncertainly after he’s met with another bout of silence. He’s about 70% sure this is another stupid prank, 60% sure that he’s about to be rushed with another fit of sharp laughter about how sucky Noel is at collecting plants. “Earth to dickhead?”

Cody takes a few steps forwards, and it’s only then that Noel catches sight of his empty expression, the strange blankness contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. The flowers in his hands aren’t nearly as white as the ones the professor had told them to collect.

Probably some side effect of a random herb he found. Noel feels some of unease slip off with the sweat from his back only to be replaced with sharp concern.

“Hey, dude, I don’t really know what happened to you, but we’re gonna get you back to the castle, alright?” he says, stepping forward to place a hand on his shoulder. He blinks quickly when Cody almost recoils from the touch, flinching backwards only to draw even closer. “You - man, you okay?”

He’s met with nothing more than a slow nod, a slow swipe of his bright tongue over his lips. Noel can feel his throat starting to dry up again, but he pushes it aside for the time being, opting to instead drape his arm across somewhat broad shoulders. With a slight push of his body, he beckons Cody forth.

“C’mon, man, let’s go,” he mutters, genuine concern and perhaps fear creeping into his voice, and releases a sharp breath when at last Cody wobbles forwards.

He blinks once, twice, and wonders how fucked they are now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy, unforunately i was on vacation for a while, so this chapter's been a long time coming. sorry for the unannounced hiatus, hopefully more chapters will be coming on soon.


	5. bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> I've been trying my best to convey respect for aleena, kelsey, noel, cody, and all the other irl people in this writing BUT fair warning: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS WILL CONTAIN MORE / CONTENT. Noel and Cody's relationship will be depicted in a romantic fashion. To those who don't like that/are uncomfortable with it, I truly apologize and warn that you shouldn't read the next chapters.
> 
> Thank you to those who have been keeping up with this story so far.

“He - what?”

The nurse sighs, long and tired, and Noel can almost taste the annoyance on her tongue when she talks. “I told you, Mr. Miller. Your - friend - discovered some leaves of a plant used to make Amortentia, a very prominent love potion. Largely believed to be the most potent in existince, in fact. Dear, I _told_ that old groundskeeper to rip them out and plant them somewhere more secretive.” 

She mumbles the last part to herself. Not that Noel would’ve heard it, anyways, because _what_.

Potent?

Amortentia?

_Love potion?_

He’s - he’s _made_ it before - in Potions class, of course, not more than a couple weeks ago. His was a semi-average brew of something near a yellowish pigmentation, thick and almost foldable. Its smell had surpassed its putrid color by far; the scent of a dusty, homely old broomstick had wafted lazily into the air, accompanied faintly by the smell of a thick type of tree oil. 

He had lied about it, of course - had said that the scent was awful similar to Aleena’s lavender shampoo - because the sort of tree oil had smelt a little too much like maple.

 _Everyone_ knows that there’s only _one_ Canadian student at Hogwarts.

He had near downed the entire thing, anyhow, before his professor whisked by with a brisk chattering of “Average. Color and density needs work.” Unfortunately, his classmates hadn’t all been as lucky - at one point, Spock had been forcibly pried from Cody’s arms, dragged to the Hospital Wing as he waxed lines about his fair skin. 

_Cody_ isn’t talking much about _his_ skin.

(Not like he even _wanted_ him to.

Stupid.)

“Uh, you sure it’s not just daffodil or something?” he asks.

“No, I’m quite sure,” the woman insists, tittering by the blonde boy’s side. Noel’s fairly sure the plant has some purpose, some dizzying drug built into it, because Cody’s already fast asleep.

Still, he’s always been rubbish with potions and herbology (although he doubts Cody is either, with this situation). “The pollen on his fingers mostly matches it, ignoring the additional spots of Valerian. I’m - surprised - that you haven’t seen any side effects, really.”

“Side effects?”

“Well,” she pauses, drifting from the plain pale hospital bed and the not-quite-plain pale boy resting in it. “ _Usually_ , when one encounters that certain plant or its pollen, there are certain _things_ that happen.” She’s hesitant, obviously holding back, and Noel’s too concerned about his _friend_ of sorts to dally on any longer.

“What?” he demands, impatient and sullen. “What _things_? Spit it out. Miss.”

The woman glares at him momentarily, refound anger and annoyance overtaking concern for a long moment, before her gaze flickers quickly to the floor. “Well - Amortentia _is_ a love potion. So most of its contents are magical as well, this plant in particular. While not quite as potent as the actual potion, a whiff of this and I’m afraid you’ll be dizzily and absolutely consumed by love for the wizard physically closest to you.”

Noel blinks.

 _Dizzily, absolutely in love_ does not sound like something to appropriately describe Cody. Or what he had been like moments after Noel found him with golden pollen covering his hands.

“But he wasn’t rushing at me,” he argues, pulling at a stray strand of dark hair. “He was - dazed, confused, miss. Nearly fell down when I came up to him.”

“Ah,” the nurse notes, nodding slowly. Her lips have flattened grimly, and Noel thinks that she _knows_ what’s going on, she absolutely _does_ , and she’s not telling for some fucking _stupid_ reason. “Right.”

“Why?” His arms are still crossed, brilliant hazel eyes narrowed, and he hopes she knows she won’t be getting out of this one - whatever the _fuck_ it is.

Eventually, she crosses over to a nearby bed, sinking down on the unoccupied white mattress. Her face is gradually becoming pinched as if she’s being forced to spit out or swallow something particularly vile, and she pats a space beside her.

Noel chooses not to sit. It doesn’t feel right. Which, of course, is a downright strange feeling when he knows it concerns his previous archenemy and current-

Current-

Friend?

He’s said - or at least thought - it before. But glancing down at Cody’s frozen form, at his gaping mouth - and naturally the subsequent stream of drool slipping from between flushed lips - there’s a sudden realization that hits him.

He’s just not sure.

He never is. Not when it’s _Cody._

But - but if this isn’t fucking friendship, what is it?

(Frenemy - frenemyship? Is that the word?

It’s stupid and it’s just not right. 

Noel’s not sure he’ll ever find _right._ Still, he’ll try.)

“See, Mr. Miller,” the nurse starts slowly, voice suddenly softer than the bed she perches on.

Noel fights to resist the urge to close his eyes. There’s something dizzing, _terrifying_ , about her tone, and he wants to leave, to return to his homely quarters, to the familiar scent of vanilla and oak, and fall asleep with forgetfulness on his brain.

It’s too late, though. He’s got himself in too deep.

He’s _been_ in too deep for quite some time now.

“When one is exposed to that certain plant, the most common reaction is the formation of a wild passion for the nearest wizard. But when that nearest wizard is already cared for - if the _victim_ is already _enamoured_ with that very wizard - a much milder reaction can be expected. Commonly light vomiting, discoloration in the face - or, as evidenced in this case, confusion or dizziness.”

He blinks.

She pauses. It’s clear it’s not reaching him.

“He’s in love with you, Mr. Miller. Or something near it, something growing.”

Noel opens his mouth.

Closes it.

What the fucking - _fuck_?

The nurse grimaces, and he realizes he’s said it out loud.

He can hear a soft grunt somewhat near him.

Great. He’s stirring.

This is - great.

“You’re-” he pauses, pauses because he can’t exactly call a nurse a _liar_ without repercussion but what else could she be? What else, if she dares claim that _Cody Kolodziejzyk_ is in fucking _love_ with him, like some sort of fucking schoolgirl?

He’s - not. He can’t be.

Because they’re Cody and Noel, Noel and Cody. They’re not meant - they're - they're-

They're the sun and the moon, never destined to hang bright in the same sky, always clashing to be first, to be brightest, to be best. Two celestial beings, two beacons of untouchable light, of hope and destiny and all that other bullshit that makes the first years revere them like gods. They're figureheads, hanging at the faces of their respective houses - sworn enemies, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

The epitome of Hufflepuff, the epitome of Slytherin - they had never been meant to come together, and Noel realizes far too late.

Because - they’re - they used to be - enemies, archenemies, consumed by hate, hate, hate because Noel, Noel had known only hate and _love_ and _love_ is something he’s never _ever_ considered offering to Cody. Ancestral enemies - written in their blood.

Noel - he's already gone against everything they've been born, been forced into. Cody - he's found, offered their relationship a sort of in-between, and Noel, against all odds, has accepted it. It's enough - it's enough _weird_ and _unorthodox_ and _weird_ for a lifetime. It's dizzying, stupefying, paining enough-

And to think - to dare think about involving _love_ , to dare dance across this thinning tightrope, to dare toe the faint line of _this_ -

He can't-

Cody yawns, long and unapologetically loud, and props himself up on his bed with an elbow, sleep still hanging heavy in brown eyes. 

“Augh. So what’s the case, doc?”

The _liar_ blinks, eyes still focused sympathetically on Noel.

(Bullshit. He doesn't need her sympathy, doesn't need a _liar's_ emotion, doesn't need it from someone out to get-)

“I’ll give you two some privacy."

Cody yawns again, stretching out his arms sluggishly. His faint paisley hospital gown dips at the motion, revealing more long expanses of pale skin and reddish freckles, and - and-

Fuck. Fucking fuck everyone, fuck whoever the fuck Merlin is, fuck God if he's real - fuck. 

He can't, he knows he can't-

(Can't he try?)

He doesn’t _need_ that right now. Not now.

He tears his eyes away.

“Privacy? Have I got cancer or something?” he asks, teeth flashing like beacons in the dark, and Noel can’t. He _can’t_ , he can't.

Repeating - repeating it makes it sear into his tongue, his flesh, his mind so he can't possibly consider that maybe he _can_ but he's just afraid, afraid like he had been at the beginning, afraid like he had _always_ been because he can't possibly _love_ or _like_ or _feel_ for Cody Kolodziejzyk-

He can't turn to fists now, can't rely on a rush in his blood to carry him away to a world where red says a lot more than anything else.

Not when he looks - looks so-

And when he- he just acts so-

Fuck. Fucking - fuck.

Noel swallows again, pushing down a lump in his throat. 

“It’s fine. You’re fine,” he says, cold and untouched and surprisingly, surprisingly it's just all so _hard_.

Why isn't this easy?

He sees Cody’s eyebrows furrow just before he turns and just-

leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 more chapter before the finale baby!!!! hope y'all will like it
> 
> i think i'll be making a hp tmg crossover drabble series after this, so to those who want more then there'll be that probably haha


	6. beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all - ye know on earth, and all ye need to know

They had planned a practice scrimmage.

Of fucking _course_ they had.

Noel, obviously, had protested - had demanded that they cancel, that they at least reschedule, because now was not a good time. Not a good time at _all_.

But the Hufflepuff head had insisted - something about building unity between two houses famed for conflicting, and, “Mr. Miller, didn’t I hear something about you and that Slytherin boy making friends? _You_ of all boys shouldn’t be complaining.” And, well, he couldn’t exactly tell her that he was currently four days, three hours into ignoring Cody Kolodziejzyk because he was having Feelings that were scaring the absolute hell out of him and some stupid practice scrimmage was _not_ going to get in the way of that.

He couldn’t.

So then he goes to the fucking scrimmage.

Pulls on his dirty old captain’s uniform, adjusts his brown playing gloves, and silently leads his team from their common room, face painted grimly.

Cody stands waiting on the field.

His team are huddled a few feet or so away from him, wearing their uniforms and smirks as familiar as the click of the suitcase holding the balls, the squeaking noise of the Snitch taking to the air.

The sly twist of Cody’s grin.

It’s more uncertain than usual - confused by Noel’s cold manner, taken aback from the way he brushes past without a word - and Noel’s _angry_ that he can tell the slightest difference in his face, the sudden dullness of the glimmer in his eyes. 

He’s angry that he remembers.

It’s okay. Noel will learn to forget.

He has to.

He grabs the quaffle from where it rests on the grass, spins it between his fingers. He can hear Cody turn, can _feel_ his mouth open, the words moments from spilling out.

If he hears - if he hears a second of it, his resolve won’t hold. He’ll fall back into the same dizzying spiral - he’ll remember, he’ll _think_ , and he’ll have to face-

He mounts his broom silently, swiftly, and lets the quaffle bounce from his fingertips.

The game begins, not a word exchanged between two teams, and Noel wonders if he’d felt so hollow at all those other games they played.

Before.

The keepers scramble to their posts - his in particular aiming a verbal curse his way - and he can hear the others hastily jump onto their brooms. He reaches the quaffle first, the element of surprise on his side, and momentarily remorse twinges through him.

(Wasn’t like he was planning to cheat, but _still_.

He wasn’t planning on ignoring Cody either.

There’s a thought brewing in the back of his brain - the sort of thought that speaks pure truth, the sort of thought that says he’ll _never_ forget, but he doesn’t hear it.)

The wind whistles hoarsely around him, and he knows the other players have at last regained their bearings - that the beaters will soon reil in some bludgers, that the chasers will soon be shouldering him angrily. He moves before they can - urges his broom to _move_ , tilting his body and lets himself fall into the game.

Euphoria approaches, and he spins through the air.

This - this has always been easy. 

When everything he knows comes to fall - the memory of home, dreams of success, a dying hatred for Cody Kolodziejzyk - there is Quidditch.

A flash of silver and emerald appears in his peripherals, and the hollow feeling returns, sinking its unforgiving teeth into his mind, merciless and powerful.

 _He has to forget_.

He shifts on his broom and dips low, narrowly avoiding a full body slam from a particularly brazen chaser, and crosses to the left of another. Noel - he can hear some of his chasers shouting, offering positions, but he doesn’t intend on passing the quaffle to them. If there’s an out to this strange emptiness snarling inside his stomach, he’ll have to find it himself.

Forty - thirty - twenty meters. He can feel the distance between his fingertips and the hoops of the Slytherin goalposts shrinking, can feel the rush trickling slowly back into his bloodstream, the finality before a goal as he throws.

The quaffle twirls through the air, spinning in its extreme speed, and falls perfectly through the left most hoop, untouched by the outstretched fingers of the Slytherin keeper.

The chasers snarl furiously behind him, nigh matching heat for heat, never truly comprehending the difference between scrimmage and game. Who can blame them? They take after their captain, whether green or gold paints their backs. 

He feels the corner of his mouth tug upward before he can stop it, a rebellious tick, and back in his peripherals he can see something - someone - mirror the action. He catches himself afterwards - remembers that it’s _wrong_. That he’s had a crush on Aleena for simply _ages_ \- and maybe, maybe it died a little after he considered the idea of liking dick nearly as much as Quidditch and pussy, but it could always just happen again. 

At least it would be-

Well, it’s not like she’s his former sworn enemy, his former main rival - the head captain of his house’s respective sworn enemies, the boy whose blood he can feel running in rivulets down his knuckles everytime he lets his eyes flutter south.

It’s not right, any of it.

So he bites his tongue and keeps on trying to forget.

The quaffle falls from his fingertips when he nears the leftmost hoop - twists his broom to sail in a fluid arc around it, throwing the rubber ball inside with finality only when the outstretched fingertips of the reaching keeper begin to descend.

If the desperate, weaving chase across the pitch is what mixes his blood with kerosene, this small victory’s the lighter.

It flies through the hoop, falling into the outstretched palms of Cody Kolodziejzyk.

How is he supposed to forget when he’s _right there_?

He looks at him briefly - something that feels like an echo, something that feels so repetitive that it’s beginning to drain his energy faster than the physical exertion of the game - and watches the subtle curl of pink lips unfurl.

There’s a furrow in his dark brow, unmistakably a sign of _worry_ , and Noel turns before he can recognize the fuzzy sort of ache beginning to gnaw at his brain.

He knows that it’s not _beginning_ , deep in the bit of his belly. It’s not just starting. It’s always been there, always, but he’s just recognizing it now, now that the nurse and that stupid, stupid plant have painstakingly dragged him back to reality.

He’s off the painkiller - the truly addictive drug that is his radiant smile, his sly grin - and the only thing that’s beginning is his new personal brand of hell.

God, he wishes he could just-

He’s left in the dust again - it’s his fault for getting caught up in his own head again, really - as Cody takes off, Quaffle tucked securely under his arm. He can hear the jeering of Slytherin beaters from where he hovers, can hear the focused grunts of his teammates, and tries his damn hardest to focus on what’s immediately around him - what won’t dig painfully into his mind - as he spurs his broom onwards.

As ratty as his broom may be, years of practice hold their worth, allowing him to maneuver past other chasers and a stray bludger or two. He’s a rare type of captain - or, with Cody being _Cody_ , a rare type of Hufflepuff captain - with the way violence comes to him. 

It’s - more mild - on the pitch, at least, and it’s not like _that_. It’s just - for a Hufflepuff, shoving, kicking, _snapping_ comes like second nature, comes like most people expect it would to a Slytherin or even a shitbrained Gryffindor.

Fortunately, today it comes up to be nothing more than a couple of misplaced shoves or so, a rough shouldering here or there to a particularly determined chaser. It’s all mostly because he’s too hellbent on shadowing Cody to let some stupid third year get in his way - all because Cody’s got the quaffle.

He’ll say it’s that, at least.

(Or when the nurse inevitably calls him down to the Hospital Wing and demands an explanation for the Slytherin’s dislocated shoulder. But it’s not his fault, not his fault that she doesn’t know the rules - the rules that switch on when Cody and Noel are back on the pitch, the Quaffle rooted in either one of their palms. 

Because when one nears the other, or at least grow intent on it - you stay the _fuck_ out of the way.)

He’s nothing but a liar if he calls what fills his eyes when he watches Cody play anything less than _admiration_. Now, then - it’s the same, the awe breaking the strange calm of focus in his eyes, the same as what had appeared new and foreign five years ago.

Because Cody - he’s nothing less than an utter madman on the pitch, an uncontained _beast_. He slams through chasers, beaters, even teammates like they’re nothing more than slightly bumpy patches of wind, like the red cards wracking up under his name are nothing. 

And Noel knows, just knows that if this were some real game - a game for the Cup, a game that would decide the success of each teams’ season - that nothing at all would change.

They’re the same, the both of them, and he wonders why he’s never questioned that maybe that means they _think_ the same, too.

Maybe because that’s one of the scariest parts. Maybe because he doesn’t want to think about anything other than winning this stupid scrimmage.

He sees him slam a fourth year off their broom, not stopping to watch her reach out and hang on a second before sure injury. There’s something to be admired in his ruthless demeanor, in the way he sweeps every obstacle away uncaringly - chasers, students, the years of hatred Noel’s dedicated in his name.

Cody’s always been good at quidditch.

But as he jerks his broom abruptly upwards, releasing his grip to spring wildly through the air, and reaches out his hands to pull, to grasp and rip the quaffle from pale hands, Noel thinks he’s better.

He lands back on his broom in its rapid ascent, jerking into a breakneck turn to dip beneath an angry bludger, and begins the desperate dash back to the Slytherin goalposts.

He can hear an outraged shout as his back and turns to meet it with a grin before he can stop himself. The both of them - they’ve planned twirls, turns, jumps much more dangerous and in all ways more unbelievable than this, but the curious warmth in brown eyes makes this one one of his favorites.

He’s fighting a losing battle, this uncertain quest to forget. The only thing slipping from his memory is the bitter reason as to why he’s on this involute journey in the first place.

The quaffle bounces off the keeper’s fingertips, and from where he’s thrown it he leans forwards and nudges it into the goalpost. 

Hufflepuff, twenty-zero.

He wishes everything could be as easy as this. Could be as sure as quidditch, could be as sure as his grip on dusty old wood. 

He takes a breath for a moment, closes his eyes because his mind’s tiring him far more than the game is, because he knows he won’t be able to run forever - not when merely four days, four hours drain him so harshly.

His fingers tighten on the edge of his broom. Angry jeering from both teams beckon him back to reality, but he thinks he can hold his position for perhaps a moment longer.

Why can’t things ever be easy? 

Maybe they are. Maybe it’s just him, just him at the thought of _Cody_.

He opens his eyes and returns to reality at the sight of a brutish, angry red ball smashing furiously into his face. The pain appears in the form of a dull ache that he thinks had already been there.

Roughly four days, four hours into ignoring Cody Kolodziejzyk, Noel Miller falls off his broom with the bludger and a name on the edge of his tongue.

\---

He wakes up in the Hospital Wing. Naturally. He had expected that part.

What he hadn’t expected: roughly 5’2” of pale skin and paler hair staring intently at a scroll at the edge of his bed.

He sets down the scroll quickly and stares when Noel lifts his head, licks his lips to wipe off the bitter taste he finds, and coughs. There’s a strange look on his face, an expression that Noel can’t quite read, and it starts to tug at his brain.

“What are you doing?” Noel asks plainly, eyes still half closed, and he doesn’t think the pounding ache in his head is what’s making him sound so tired.

“Saving your sorry ass,” he answers, and the expression on his face starts looking a lot more pinched. “Or at least I did, after you had your fuckin’ _That’s So Raven_ epiphany on the pitch and didn’t see that bigass bludger.” His lips are pressed together so tightly they look white, and Noel realizes his brain isn’t the only thing that’s pounding right now.

He swallows. “Okay.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t want to talk at all - not with the incessant pounding in his skull - but Cody’s mere presence is strangely comforting enough for him to ignore it.

It shouldn’t be like that, but it is. He’s always been slow at accepting the truth.

The Hospital Wing is quiet when they fall into silence, devoid of other patients or the usual nurse. Usually its dreary white walls and the overhanging stench of cotton and mothballs make his stomach churn uneasily, but he’s far too tired to regard much of it. He’s trying to focus, anyhow, on the subtle yellow glow the oil lamp on his bedside table casts on Cody’s face.

He wishes it would go away. Seeing it makes things _hard_.

He can hear parchment rustle directly ahead of him. Even in the dim light, Noel can see the worry in the tilt of his eyebrows, the nervous way he fiddles with his assignment.

Noel waits until Cody starts. He does. 

Naturally.

“Why?” he asks simply, unusually quiet, and the pain in his head, his stomach, his chest suddenly _swells_. 

He’s not the only one who’s tired, but he’s the only one who’s been selfish about it.

Noel wonders if he can choke on the lump in his throat.

(He wonders if this is the only time he hasn’t heard his words punctuated with a “fuckin’” or a “shit.” He’s just as guilty, but _thinking_ is better than answering.)

“Why, what?” he wants to ask, but he’s tired. Tired of being unfair, of lying.

“I don’t know,” he wants to say, but he can’t.

(Didn’t he say he was tired of lying?)

“I’m scared,” he says instead, and watches Cody press his lips together again and roll up his parchment to leave.

\---

“I am,” he insists the next morning, because of course Cody’s returned, classes disregarded. He’s always been more fair than Noel, more fair than he’s given credit. 

Noel’s been pardoned from class until the unabating pounding in his head stops, and he doesn’t think it will any time soon.

Cody reclaims his spot at the edge of the bed, fiddling with his hands instead of a parchment. Noel’s never been good at reading people, he figures as he finally balls them, knuckles whitening under self-applied pressure. Noel thinks it’s his chance - his turn - to be selfish, but he’s not sure he’ll take it.

(He’s never been as good as Cody.)

“I’ve never seen you scared,” Cody returns. There’s hurt taking up the space where confusion and concern once stood.

Noel swallows slowly. He doesn’t bother watching Cody’s eyes. “Once,” he says, and it’s not really that much of a lie if he doesn’t remember all the others, if he doesn’t count the ones where Cody had been as bad at reading people as he is. “Detention. Forbidden Forest.”

“Right.” He shifts a millimeter away, turns his face so Noel can’t see it. It doesn’t matter much, anyways. “I don’t remember a lot of that. Just that I smelled some stupid flower and it made you start fucking ignoring me.” He’s not _trying_ to be selfish or dramatic or angry and Noel knows it. 

He wishes he’d stop being fair.

“Cody,” he breathes, because he can’t respond to that. He’s too scared.

Again. 

How does a coward _stop_?

“Am I _lying_?” Cody bites back, fixing him some sort of stare, and this time it’s Noel who turns away. “I - I did something, I get it. But - shit, man, was it so bad you have to stop yourself halfway through when you want to smile or even fuckin’ _look_ at me?”

He _really doesn’t know what to say_.

“It - it wasn’t your fault, Cody, _fuck_ ,” he responds painstakingly. The pounding only gets worse with the rising of his voice. He can’t make either stop.

“Then what _was it_?” 

His voice - it’s tearing into Noel, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so terribly wrong before.

But he deserves to know.

“Okay - okay, fuck, you just- we were looking for some plants, right?” he says at last, teeth near gritted. “Some flowers or something for the prof. You found that dumb flower, made you get all dizzy and shit. I took you here and the nurse _said_ something.”

“I remember that part,” Cody says slowly, leaning forwards when Noel returns his gaze. “But what’d she _say_?”

He’s never thought this out, he realizes. Never really planned telling Cody about this shit, telling him to his face that some mystical British flower said that he’s in fucking _love_ with him - mostly because it was ridiculous enough to think about.

“Said that since you weren’t freaking out, you were in love with me,” he says simply, and waits for the fall.

It should be more dramatic, he thinks afterwards. There should be violins, trumpets, the sort of stuff from movies - even the sound of Cody’s laughter when he says, “Are you fucking _high_?”

Instead, there’s thinly pressed lips, the sweeping of dark eyes. A bitter, resigning sort of sigh that speaks more finality than a cursive title card, that fills Noel’s chest with a sort of hollow feeling.

He thinks he would’ve preferred the movie-type ending.

“So that’s what this is.” His voice sounds - _feels_ \- like broken glass, and Noel’s tired of the biting pain, the dull ache that chases him. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks, because he doesn’t understand.

There’s a sound like a dam breaking, and when Cody’s eyes flicker upwards to dig furiously into Noel’s, he feels burnt.

“Yeah, fuckin’ _okay_ ,” he growls, and Noel wonders why his anger doesn’t feel the _same_ , like the way it has for five years. “What do you want me to say? Okay, I’m fucking in love with you. Okay, I get that the fuckin’ _thought_ of it is so motherfucking _disgusting_ that you just have to ignore me for _days_ without explination. Okay, I guess I’ll just get over the fact that you literally _hate me_.” 

He stills, takes a breath, and recoils, recoils as if Noel’s reached out to offer comfort. “Is that what you _fucking_ wanted me to say?”

He stands up abruptly, dark eyes devoid of warmth, and Noel wonders if that was what he had looked like, had looked like when he left Cody confused and alone. 

“Cody,” he pleads, because he doesn’t have anything left in him besides the relentless _ache._ It hasn’t ever felt this bad.

“It’s fine,” Cody says, and Noel wonders how he remembers when he turns to leave.

\---

It comes to him on the third day.

It’s stupid, _stupid_ , how quickly it comes to his head when he wakes - because it’s been _five years_ and _now_ it comes.

He’s in _love_ with Cody Kolodziejzyk.

It’s irrational, the mere thought of it, but it’s been roughly five years of hatred and one month of something-near-friendship and he thinks he’s had the proper time to brood about it.

Because - nobody makes him _feel_ quite as much as him. The pounding in his head, his chest - it’s never been quite as fierce as it is when he’s there, it’s never been like that for anybody.

And Cody - Cody, with dark eyes and rough hands and sharp teeth and barking laughter and stupid ideas and the sort of Quidditch skills only a man destined to go professional would have, is not just _anybody_. He’s the boy who’s been on the edge of Noel’s tongue ever since he transferred to this stupid British circus, the only person he thinks he’s ever really admired.

He thinks it’s something like love, that.

And he knows it’s far past its due time.

So Noel waits - he waits for Cody to come, to return like he always does in his so _stupidly_ fair nature, and when he gets tired of waiting he gets up and leaves.

He’s still in a paisley decorated hospital gown when he finds him in the library, tucked in a corner with a long roll of parchment by his side. He’s half asleep, fist digging into his cheek, when he sees Noel.

Before his mouth can twist bitterly, before his dreary eyes can pull at him and betray his misery, before fear can unfurl irrationally in his chest, Noel pulls at his robes and kisses him.

Kissing Cody - it’s not insane, it’s not life changing, it’s not earth shaking. They’re teenagers, after all, both young and stupid and afraid - they’re not movie stars in any way. 

But it’s long overdue, he knows, and - it’s like the furious sting of whipping air, the feel of a rubber ball beneath his fingers and a pack of chasers at his back.

Maybe it's a little ground shaking, he amends.

But he hasn’t the time to savor it, the surge of energy - the time to overthink it, because Cody pulls back moments later.

“Fuck you,” he tries to spit, and where there should be fury and hatred there stands weariness. Noel’s tired of the repetition. “You-

“I - you can’t just _do_ this. Just because I said I was in -" he near shouts, and Noel can feel eyes digging into their backs and a joint detention coming their way, but he doesn't _care_. He won't let them ruin this. "I already got it, okay? Let me down easy - pretend this never happened - and you don’t have to even _look_ at me anymore."

Cody pauses, takes in a shuddering breath, and the ache fills his chest with every puff of in and out. He raises his arms defensively, near tugging out of his grip. The expression - the look on his face is so terrible, so shattering, so truthfully _broken_ , and he wants to reach out but Cody looks at him like he's so perfect and _cruel_. Like he's some uncaring god, some terrible deity. 

He's just a stupid man.

"Isn't that what you wanted?”

It's not, he knows. It's not. He's just-

He's just fucking stupid.

(The both of them are.)

Noel leans forwards when Cody recoils, clenching his shoulders with both hands. “Listen up, you fucking idiot,” he says, spits it out before he can start overthinking. Maybe that’s not fair, considering how truly _idiotic_ he’s always been, but he’s too focused on the _look_ Cody has again to care. 

“I am in motherfucking love with you too, you big bitch, and - and maybe it took me a fucking _decade_ to figure things out, but I have. So _there_.”

It takes a moment for anything to happen.

It’s abrupt, this sudden declaration of love - and they’re both far too foul mouthed to have the moment be anything near movie-like. The library is silent, cold, but he feels his chest blossoming with warmth at the lowering of Cody's arms, the way some sort of realization dawns on his face.

Suddenly everything feels a lot more okay.

He should’ve done this sooner, so much sooner.

“No shit?” Cody asks slowly, because he does.

“No shit,” Noel confirms gently, because the cowardice - it’s there, sure as ever, but the newfound energy he’s got, this certain warmth that fills him whenever he sees the curl of those lips - it overpowers _everything_.

"No way," he says, falls a little back because his guard's been torn down a little too freshly for everything to be _fine_ so quickly. It's not normal, any of it, because he's Cody and he's Noel and things were never supposed to Work Out.

"Yes way," Noel says, and he hasn't ever heard his own voice so soft. It's only for Cody, he thinks, and he wonders why it took him so long.

There’s still hesitation in Cody’s eyes, the way he slowly reaches out and places a hand on Noel’s hip, but the glint, the familiar brilliant light, is far more visible. 

“Yeah,” he says, leaning a little closer, “okay.”

Noel smiles, falls a little forwards, and meets him halfway.

Things are gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'll likely make a little ficlet series after this, so keep your eyes out for that lmao)
> 
> THE END BABY
> 
> finally the end! it's been a wild ride writing, and thanks for all of the support. i'll probably stick with tmg ao3 for a while longer. thanks for everything !!!!!
> 
> edit: i got a tumblr!! hmu @ https://marcmarcmarcus.tumblr.com/


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